Figure It Out
by aprms
Summary: '"Stiles!" she hissed, furious and mortified. She sat up, pulling the sheets up to her neck. "I was asleep!" She had never hated anyone in that moment as much as she hated her roommate, for interrupting her sex dream about him.' Future fic. Stiles and Lydia are on their most baffling case yet, but neither of them can seem to focus. Stydia. Some Scalia.
1. Chapter 1

**So a Stydia one-shot wasn't enough for me, I needed some slow burn in my life. Hellooo multichapter!**

 **This story takes place in the future, but the events of season 6 didn't happen. Stiles and Lydia never got together, and continue to be clueless puppies.**

 **Please review, as I don't have a beta for Teen Wolf fics so really have no idea if this is even any good :)**

 **Rated M from the outset, so be warned.**

Chapter One

 _They're at a party._

 _She knows it's a party because she can feel the bass under her skin, vibrating, but she isn't aware of much else. There's a red plastic cup in her hand, and its empty. She doesn't feel drunk though._

" _Hey."_

 _She turns to the sound of his voice, smiling. "Hey, Stiles."_

 _He looks nice, like he dressed up for the occasion. Navy blue button down and dark jeans. "Where have you been?"_

 _She doesn't really know where she's been before this moment, so she shrugs. "Waiting."_

" _Waiting for what?"_

" _I…" She frowns. "I don't know." She looks around, takes in her surroundings. They're upstairs in the hallway. There are a few people milling around, looking for a bathroom or bedroom, but other than that they're alone. She recognizes the house, but she can't place it._

 _Then suddenly, she realizes._

 _She's dreaming._

" _Have you been waiting for me?" Stiles asks, his eyes wide. She looks up at him, considers him for a long time, because yes she_ has _been waiting for him, and now she knows what she's supposed to be dreaming about._

" _Yes," she says, clearly this time, jutting her chin out. Stiles reaches out and takes it between his thumb and forefinger, grinning like an idiot._

 _He dips his head down to hers, invading her space. "Lydia, are you sure you want this?" He's whispering, his breath tickling her face. She shudders, steadying herself with one hand on his chest. "We can just go downstairs and dance."_

" _No," she whispers back, adamant. "Take me somewhere."_

 _That's how they end up in the study, Lydia perched on the end of the desk, Stiles between her legs as she fists her hands in his hair, moaning incredibly loudly because it's not like the rules of physics really apply here and she's definitely not going to alert anyone._

 _He's got one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, hand splayed over the small of her back as he pushes her against his mouth, tonguing her roughly, ignoring her cries. He pulls away to watch her as she whimpers, catching her eye as his fingers continue to pump in and out, the rhythm driving her insane._

" _Holy shit," she pants as he smirks and resumes what he was doing, his tongue flicking deliciously against all the right places. He's groaning with pleasure at the sounds she's making, fingers digging into the skin of her back. Lydia's hips buck involuntarily. "I can't believe we're doing this, Stiles."_

 _He rests his head against her thigh, kissing the sensitive skin there as he gazes up at her, eyes misty with lust. "I love the way you say my name," he sighs as she squirms and impatiently surges forward, riding his fingers. He licks his wet lips, eyes roaming over her face. "I want to know what you sound like when you come."_

 _She clenches around his fingers involuntarily, because God, he was so sexy and how wasn't she aware of this before? "Come for me, Lydia," he groans, dipping back down and taking her clit between his teeth, sucking gently on it as he curls his fingers inside her. She loses it, gasping and gripping his hair. "Come on, Lydia. I want you to come all over my fingers."_

 _She yanks him up to her by the hair, fire in her eyes. She's going to come, and it's going to be fucking_ incredible _._

 _He's palming her clit as he fingers her, and she's fucking his hand with rhythm now, her hips moving with pace. "Oh...God," she gasps brokenly, her teeth against his shoulder. She's so close, she can feel it. "Stiles, I'm going to-"_

"Lydia!"

She jerked awake, reality hitting her like a train.

Stiles was hovering over her, waving his hand in her face in his usual spastic manner, but she couldn't hear a damn thing he was saying because the blood was rushing in her ears and she'd been _seconds_ away from the best orgasm she'd ever had in her life.

Granted, she'd been dreaming, but it still counted.

She blinked a couple of times, and then glared at him. "Stiles!" she hissed, furious and mortified. She sat up, pulling the sheets up to her neck. "I was _asleep_!"

He shot her a _duh_ look. "I'm aware of that." He turned and headed for her door. "It's nearly ten thirty." He paused in her doorway, staring at her. "You can sleep when you're dead."

She opened and closed her mouth, determined to fire something defensive back. She had never hated anyone in that moment as much as she hated her roommate, for interrupting her sex dream about him.

"It's called a lie-in Stilinski. Heard of it?"

"No, actually." He was resting on the doorframe, his signature shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. "I was up at seven talking to Parrish. They've found something in the woods again."

Lydia groaned, sliding further under her covers. "You spoken to your dad?"

Stiles nodded, his fingers tap tapping against the wood. He literally never stopped moving. "He says we should definitely go down to the station. He thinks it's worth you having a look too."

She sighed dramatically, throwing her covers back and getting to her feet. "I'll get dressed. And Stiles?"

He had been halfway down the hallway, but she heard him shuffle back to her room. He stuck his head in, grinning, brown eyes bright with expectation. "Yeah?"

"Next time, can you fucking _knock_?"

"I did!" He fired back, exasperated. "You were completely out!" He shook his head, retreating towards the kitchen again. She heard his voice bounce off the walls as he walked away. "Must have been dreaming about something good!"

Lydia hugged herself tightly, squeezing her eyes shut in absolute embarrassment.

They were the only ones left in Beacon Hills – permanently anyway. Scott and Malia lived out of town, just far enough away that they could stay out of the stuff they didn't need to be involved in. Stiles had occasionally had to call his best friend and ask for his help, when he and Lydia had run into serious trouble, and Scott had been there as fast as Malia could erratically drive them over.

Before college Lydia had wanted so much for herself – she was going to move away to the city, live in a gorgeous apartment overlooking the skyline and write books about math and physics. She would work the occasional weekend teaching bright young minds, and expand on her theories for the Riemann Hypothesis.

Life didn't work out that way. After MIT she had gone home for the summer and everything had changed. Scott was with Malia, and for once they both seemed genuinely happy. When Scott had slipped an arm around Malia's waist, Lydia's gaze had turned to Stiles, who was on the couch behind them. He smiled up at her, mouth full of Doritos. "Yeah, I knew."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "You don't...mind?" Because this was Stiles' best friend and ex-girlfriend who had their hands on each other.

"We asked," Scott interrupted hastily. Malia shrugged. Lydia knew the girl had been visibly upset when she and Stiles had broken up, but that was nearly four years ago. Things changed.

She looked at Stiles, who was chewing loudly and licking his fingers. And some things didn't change.

"Yeah, we asked him if it was okay," Malia piped up, her hand on Scott's shoulder. "I don't know as much as you guys about how to deal with-" she gestured to herself, and then Scott and Stiles, "-these kinds of things." She bit her lip nervously. "But me and Scott, it just happened." She smiled openly at him, squeezing his shoulder, and Lydia bit her tongue before she could correct Malia on her grammar because actually, the two of them looked perfectly happy. "We work together. We're a team."

"Like you and Stiles." Scott added, nodding.

Lydia's ears were hot all of a sudden, and she felt stupid. Scott hadn't meant anything by it, only that she and Stiles were good at figuring things out. But still. Stiles was grinning at her, his hat perched backwards on his head to cover the hair he clearly couldn't be bothered to cut. He didn't look like the Stiles she said a teary goodbye to when they were eighteen.

After that, everything had happened pretty fast. Scott had moved to a place outside of Beacon Hills, and Malia eventually moved in with him. It wasn't that they wanted to leave the pack. It was that they wanted to at least try and pretend that they weren't going to have to take care of Beacon Hills forever. Lydia understood the feeling.

Stiles and Lydia had spent most of the summer in his room, sprawled over his bed. Stiles had taken a job with his dad at the station, temporarily he said, while he looked for his own place. He spent all of his time with Parrish, hunting supernaturals. Lydia had been looking for a job of her own, but couldn't settle on anything. Something was pulling at the back of her mind, and she couldn't shake it.

"I don't know what it is, Stiles," she mumbled one night as they ate pizza in his room, Lydia offering him a fresh pair of eyes on his case. "I wanted all these things before, and now I don't."

"Are you sure it isn't just post-college depression or something?" He asked, looking up from the crime scene photos in his hands. "Maybe you feel stuck because you feel at home here."

Lydia cocked her head to the side, staring at him. "Why are you back here anyway? I thought you would have had a job in the FBI by now."

Stiles shrugged. "I don't really feel like I'll ever leave Beacon Hills."

"Scott and Malia managed it."

"Lydia, they only live two hours away. We see them all the time." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. It was starting to flop into his eyes a bit, and Lydia remembered the buzzcut he used to sport when he was fifteen. Man, he had grown up. They all had. "Someone has to stay and take care of everyone. I feel...responsible. So does Scott, that's why he won't move any further."

Lydia chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Maybe I do too."

She watched him examine the photos in front of him, cross-checking them with the medical information in the file open by his knee. He was biting his fingernails, deep in thought.

"Stiles."

"Mmm."

"What if I stayed?"

He dragged his eyes from the papers in front of him up to her face. He looked confused. "Why would you do that?"

She shrugged, sitting up straighter on his bed. "Because you need someone else. Someone with abilities, someone who can help if things get bad."

"I have Parrish. He's a _hellhound._ "

"He can't do what I can do."

"Lydia-" Stiles sounded strained, exasperated. He closed the file in front of him. "Lydia, you can't stay here, you're better than Beacon Hills. You should be doing something incredible, far away from here. I've always done this, stayed up all night figuring stuff out, keeping an eye on the supernatural. I've done it since I was sixteen."

She reached out and covered his hand with her own, silencing him. "I want to, Stiles. I don't want to be anywhere else, I know that now. I _want_ to help you." She didn't want to be on the other side of the country, solving math problems. She wanted to keep the people of Beacon Hills safe for as long as she was needed. Liam was a capable werewolf, everyone knew that, but his pack was weak and small. They weren't ready to take over this town.

Until that time came, Lydia knew she would stay with Stiles, and do what they'd always done - figured things out.

"Maybe I could work with you, as a consultant," she said, the cogs turning in her head. "The three of us would make a good team." An idea struck her then. "Hey. We could move in together."

There was silence as Stiles stared at her, gaping like a fish. "What?" he sputtered, sounding like he was going to laugh.

She rolled her eyes, squeezing his hand. "Me and you. We can get a place and solve crimes together, chase away the supernatural threats. We can keep Beacon Hills safe from evil alphas and werejaguars and whatever the hell else comes our way. If we need Scott, we'll call him."

The disbelief was all over his face. "Living together."

"What's wrong with that?" Lydia asked, ignoring the way her stomach flipped at his tone. "I'd say we practically already live in this room. The amount of times you've let me fall asleep in your bed and taken the couch is admirable, Stilinski."

He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on the bed sheets, deep in thought. She knew exactly why he was apprehensive – it wouldn't be like living with Scott. There was an attraction there, and they were both fully aware of it. Lydia had known it for a while, since she was seventeen, but so many things had happened back then to prevent them from discussing whatever _it_ was.

Malia had come along and stolen Stiles' heart for a brief time, and it hadn't really been the same since then. Lydia knew he used to adore her, worship the ground she walked on, before she even knew his name. But as they'd grown older she'd seen him change, seen him mature with Malia and develop an understanding of what it was like to be loved by someone, to have a relationship that wasn't completely one-sided. Lydia had never been that, she'd been an infatuation, an idea he'd clung to because she was pretty and popular and not interested.

She and Stiles were closer than ever now, best friends even, but she knew he didn't feel the way he used to feel about her. It had all been terrible timing – she'd gone off to MIT and continued her life, forgetting about her growing feelings for Stiles Stilinski, and when she'd returned it was like he'd convinced himself that they were better off as friends. They'd stayed that way ever since.

Now, as they sat knee to knee on his bed, she knew they had an understanding. Friendship first. Absolutely nothing was worth jeopardizing that, especially when the safety of their town was constantly at stake.

"Okay," he finally said, and Lydia shot to her feet, eyes wide and bright with excitement.

"Really?"

He laughed, shrugging. "Why not? Rent will be cheaper."

A year later and here she was, staring into her wardrobe and pretending she was searching for an outfit when all she could think about was how filthy her dreams about Stiles seemed to be getting. It was becoming a slight problem, and she couldn't do a damn thing about it because moving in together was _her_ idea in the first place.

In her defense, they did work well together as roommates. They were considerate and clean, and never seemed to disagree on anything major. There was that one time when Stiles had nearly had a breakdown because the amount of hair in the shower drain was getting to an alarming level, and he absolutely refused to touch it. Lydia had been pretty apologetic about that, and made him lunch for the rest of the week.

Overall, they were pretty good. Now, if Lydia could just stop dreaming about having sex with him, that would be great.

Stiles was making eggs when she finally entered the kitchen, and he threw a piece of lukewarm toast at her as she took a seat at the breakfast bar. She caught it at her chest, frowning, reaching for the butter.

"So you're not going to like what they found in the woods," Stiles started as he turned to face her, leaning against the counter. He was grimacing.

Lydia's shoulders slumped, and she rested her head on one hand. "What is it?" She felt like she'd only just recovered from the murderous pack of werewolves they'd chased out of town a month ago.

"A severed head."

Lydia stopped chewing. "Seriously?"

Stiles nodded, pursing his lips. "The wound is smooth, like someone cut his head off with a sword or machete."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "So it could be non-supernatural."

Stiles sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It could be, but he's also missing his eyes. Dad says since this is Beacon Hills we're more likely to have some kind of mythical creature on our hands than a plain old serial killer."

Lydia nodded, drumming her fingers on the side of her plate. "A kitsune maybe?" She was thinking of Kira's sword, and the fire she'd personally seen in the fox's eyes. "Or a hunter. Gerard used to chop people in half."

Stiles nodded. "That's what I was thinking." He took the pan off the hob, emptying scrambled eggs on to two plates and reaching for salt and pepper. He added salt and ketchup to his eggs, and raw spinach and hot sauce to Lydia's. "My dad honestly has no idea. That's why he's asking for us, he wants Parrish and I to take the case off his hands. With Deaton out of town I think we're going to have to put our heads together and do some serious research."

Lydia gratefully accepted the plate from him, dropping her half-eaten toast on to it and wiping her fingers. "We could ask Scott and Malia if they have any ideas."

He winced, twirling his fork between his fingers. "I'd rather not bother them if we don't need to. Let's see what we find first. If we're still stuck tomorrow, we call them."

They ate in silence for a few minutes, Lydia engrossed in the newspaper and Stiles furiously texting, his forkful of food never quite making it to his mouth. "Oh shit," he choked suddenly, eggs falling with a splat onto his plate. Lydia looked up, alarmed.

"What?"

"They're doing the autopsy on the head now. Finish up Martin, we gotta move."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Parrish was waiting for them outside the morgue when they arrived, his mouth set into a thin line. Lydia smiled as they approached, raking her fingers through her hair to try to improve her appearance somewhat after being outside in the rain. Stiles shrugged off his coat, nodding at his partner as they pulled up next to him.

"What did we miss?" he asked, impatiently pushing the wet hair out of his eyes.

"Not much, the coroner hasn't started on the brain or anything yet. She's still checking out the situation with this guy's eyes. " Parrish reached behind and pushed the door open, leading the way into the morgue. "She'll be back in a few minutes. She told me before she left that she found fibers from a leather glove in his socket."

Lydia and Stiles shared a look. "We considered the possibility that this might be a hunter," she said, blowing on her fingers as the cold air hit her. "Or a group of hunters who may have chased John Doe into Beacon Hills." She glanced down at the head, resting forlornly on the metal slab in the center of the room. She resisted the urge to scrunch her nose in disgust. "Or perhaps he was trying to hide here, and they found him."

"If this was a hunter," Stiles muttered, a deep crease in his forehead as he looked at what was left of John Doe, "they didn't kill him for no reason."

Lydia looked at Parrish, biting her lip. "Hunters usually have a code, or rules, and they don't usually operate alone."

"So we're either dealing with a rogue hunter, or a pack of…" Stiles gestured at the gaping eye sockets and greying skin, screwing up his face. "…Whatever this guy was."

"Or," Parrish interrupted, folding his arms over his chest, "we have a serial killer on our hands who is murdering random victims with a sword, with absolutely no supernatural connection."

Lydia resisted the urge to look at Stiles again, knowing what he was thinking. Beacon Hills didn't attract serial killers, it attracted _monsters_.

A couple of years ago Stiles would have argued, waving his arms around dramatically while he tried to convince everyone that he was always right about these things. But he worked for the department now, and Parrish was his partner, and it was his job to keep an open mind. Besides, if there really was a serial killer targeting the innocent civilians of their town, it was still his job to stop them. He was still, first and foremost, a protector.

The coroner pushed through the door, interrupting their thoughts as she placed a clipboard down on the counter with a clatter. "Oh, you're here, good. I've got something to show you."

"We know about the fibers already," Stiles responded as they all crowded around the table under the light. Lydia rested her hands on the cold metal, bracing herself against it and staring down at the severed head as the coroner pulled on latex gloves.

"I found more than just fibers," she muttered, reaching over and forcing the mouth open. "You've got quite the case on your hands here."

Stiles leaned over, his eyes bright with curiosity. Lydia had seen that look countless times before, and she swallowed down a smirk. The gore didn't really seem to bother him any more, which was a vast improvement from his teenage years. Nowadays Lydia watched as Stiles lost himself in cases, searching for answers until the sun came up, only looking up from his laptop when she brought him fresh coffee in her slippers. She could tell him he needed to sleep more, but he wouldn't listen to her. He was made for this line of work.

"I saw something strange earlier, but I didn't move anything until you were all here. Look, right there." She pointed with a gloved hand to the back of John Doe's throat. "Do you see that?"

Lydia ducked under Stiles' arm, her curiosity peaking too. "What is it?" She could see something red and shiny.

"Can you get it out for us?" Parrish asked, squinting as he tried to identify what it was. The coroner nodded, reaching inside the mouth and pulling it out. She let it roll into the middle of her hand as the three of them crowded round her.

Lydia cocked her head to the side, staring. "It looks like...a bead. Some sort of wooden painted bead, like something you'd have on a piece of jewelry." She furrowed her brow, looking up at Stiles and Parrish. "Why would he have jewelry in his mouth?"

Parrish shrugged. "Like I have a clue, I stopped asking these kinds of questions years ago." He let out a frustrated sigh, looking at Stiles. "I have to go back to the station and help your dad with another case. A missing child."

Lydia felt her heart sink, and put a comforting hand on Parrish's shoulder. She couldn't imagine some of the shit that the Sheriff's department had to deal with, and was glad she only helped when it came to the supernatural, or in this case, the just plain _weird_.

Parrish left, and the coroner told them to go home too, saying she would call if she found anything else. Lydia was glad to leave – she'd always struggled with the autopsies, and preferred sitting in front of her research, problem solving, rather than watching people cut other people open.

The drive home was quiet, the radio crackling as she and Stiles mulled over everything in their heads. Lydia worked part time at a café down the street but she wasn't due in today, and it was supposed to be Stiles' day off, but she knew that didn't make a difference when there was a mystery to be solved. She had to admit, it was a pretty crazy case, and it had them both stumped.

Stiles was the first to break the silence.

"Oh man, all that rotten flesh has really got my appetite," he mused, tapping his fingers on the wheel. He shot her a sideways look, grinning. "Takeout?" He asked, a hopeful twinge in his voice.

"Only if it's Mr. Wu's. You know I only go for Wu's."

"Mr. Wu's it is."

They went through the drive-thru, ordering noodles and spring rolls with extra salad for Lydia and extra sauce for Stiles. They barely even had to ask any more. The servers knew their order by heart.

Lydia held the bag of food on her lap as Stiles drove the couple of blocks home, feeding him half a spring roll and rolling her eyes when he complained that it was too hot.

"Jesus, my taste buds are no more!"

"What did you _think_ was going to happen?!"

"Well, I wasn't expecting them to be so fresh! They usually sit under the heater for an hour before anyone orders them!"

"Hey, don't insult Mr. Wu's, okay? He makes good comfort food. We're gonna need it, today is gonna be a rough one, I can tell."

They made their way up to the apartment and unlocked the door, Stiles flopping immediately on to the couch as Lydia pulled two bottles of water out of the fridge. They spread the food out on the coffee table and Lydia pulled her carton of noodles into her lap, reaching for chopsticks. "So where do we start?" She asked, chewing on a piece of tofu.

"Maybe at the location where the head was found?" Stiles replied, opening his phone as he shoved a forkful of pad thai into his mouth. He couldn't use chopsticks. Lydia had tried to teach him once, but stopped when he nearly stabbed himself in the eye. Twice.

Lydia leaned over and looked at the location on the map in Stiles' phone. "It isn't near the nemeton at least."

"But you think this is a supernatural case, right?" Stiles asked, frowning.

She drew in a deep breath, and let it out, closing her eyes briefly. "Yes, I do. I wish I didn't, but it seems way too strange."

Stiles nodded, still engrossed in his phone. "Look, he wasn't really found near anything. That part of the woods is rarely used." He tapped his fork against his mouth, a confused look on his face. Lydia suddenly remembered the dream she'd had that morning, and buried her face in her noodles, shrinking away from him. Now was not a good time for him to be drawing attention to his mouth. She could still vividly picture him licking his lips before _thoroughly_ going down on her. Hell, she could still hear his groans as he curled his fingers at just the right angle-

Stiles snapped his fingers in front of her face, and she jumped, her eyes huge as she blinked at him. She'd been staring into her food, stray noodle hanging out of her mouth.

"You okay?" Stiles asked, looking amused. "You were gone for a sec there."

Um, I'm...fine," she stuttered, feeling her ears get hot. She kept her eyes trained firmly on the wall opposite. Stiles raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, shaking his head and going back to the case.

"Okay, so as I was saying, he was found really far out. That's why the flesh is so decayed, no one found him for days."

Lydia cleared her throat, pushing the extremely inappropriate thoughts about Stiles' tongue to the back of her mind. They were _working_. She needed to get her shit together.

"The rest of him could be anywhere," she mused, opening her laptop. "If this really is a hunter, they wouldn't dispose of the body and not the head. It seems pointless." She nibbled on a piece of broccoli.

"Unless there was something on the body, something they didn't want us to see."

"Like a tattoo? A pack marking?"

"Maybe." Stiles chewed his lip. "What else do we know so far?"

Lydia placed her almost empty carton on the table, sitting up straighter. "John Doe, found in the woods in the middle of nowhere. Head chopped off, eyes gouged out. The murder weapon is a sword or machete of some kind, and the killer obviously took it with them. He had glove fibers in his eye sockets and a red bead in his mouth."

Stiles was listening, his hands resting under his chin. "The killer was smart, and the crime was premeditated."

Lydia nodded thoughtfully. "I'm thinking it's about time I dig out the bestiary. Whatever John Doe was, I don't think we've come across it before."

"Good idea. I'll make us some tea."

They sat side by side, Lydia poring over the bestiary, mumbling in Latin and sipping on chamomile tea while Stiles looked through photos of medieval swords and modern hunting weapons, trying to find a link to some kind of hunter. He'd called Chris and asked about other groups aside from the Argents and the Calaveras, but without a murder weapon there wasn't much information for him to work with. He'd noted down all the other hunters Chris could name and then stared at the names, shaking his head, before resuming his search. They had so much work to do.

Neither of them realized when the sun started to go down, yellow-orange light slanting through the windows on to the floor in front of them. They'd been at it for hours, and Lydia felt her eyelids drooping, the light from her laptop screen making them itchy. She yawned, letting her head fall to the back of the couch.

 _His teeth are on her neck, and she arches into him, tilting her head back to give him better access. She's sighing with pleasure as he grinds himself into her, pushing her into the couch. "I want you," he whispers against the shell of her ear, his voice husky. She can feel his teeth graze her earlobe and she shudders, groaning._

 _She doesn't remember how they ended up sprawled on the couch, Stiles' body on top of hers, her legs around his waist, but she isn't complaining. She digs her fingernails into his shoulder blades, enjoying the way it makes him tense up, his breath hitching._

 _"You're so fucking hot, Lydia," he continues, and she can_ feel _him against her core, hard and pulsing, so she pushes up into him, her legs gripping him tighter. He lets out a strangled moan, sucking hard on his favorite spot, just above her collarbone. "You don't know how long I've wanted this."_

 _"Oh, I know," she breathes, reaching for the hem of his tee. "You can have me, Stiles. You can have whatever you want, just...keep doing what you're doing."_

 _She feels him smiling against her skin. "Okay."_

 _He pulls back to remove his shirt, and Lydia takes the opportunity to sit up, one hand pushing his chest until his back hits the couch and she's straddling him. She likes to be in charge, and with Stiles it doesn't happen often._

 _He's gazing up at her with fire in his eyes as she unbuttons her blouse, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth. She leaves it unbuttoned, a thin strip of skin showing, teasing him. "Remind me how long you've wanted this?"_

 _Stiles reaches out, his fingers grazing the sheer lace of her bra as he skims his hand down the opening, looking at her like he's never seen her before. "Too long," he breathes, and sits up to push the material off her shoulders. He pulls a bra strap down and kisses the bare skin there. Lydia shivers. "It's always been you, Lydia."_

 _She tugs at the hem of his tee impatiently, because it should be off by now. He helps her pull it over his head, and his muscles ripple under her fingers as he jumps at her touch. His hair falls into his eyes, and Lydia thinks this is the most beautiful thing she's ever seen – Stiles, unruly and shirtless and hers._

 _She's staring, and he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he's grinning like an idiot, holding her gaze, daring her to make a move. She licks her lips and leans in, holding her breath as they softly bump noses, closing the gap between-_

Stiles' ringtone went off, and the sound pierced right through the middle of her dream. Everything faded to nothing as her eyes popped open and she scanned the coffee table in front of her, bewildered.

She'd fallen asleep on Stiles' shoulder, and he was softly snoring next to her, his head resting on the back of the couch, mouth wide open. His phone was still ringing, so she dug her elbow into his side, waking him with a start.

He snorted, sitting up and giving his head a little shake, blinking rapidly before recognizing the sound. He scrambled for the phone, shoving the handset against his ear and wiping a hand over his face. "Yeah, Stiles."

Lydia slid all the way to the other side of the couch, refusing to look at Stiles as she listened to him take the call. This was getting ridiculous. It was bad enough that she dreamed about him while she was alone, in her own bed, but on the couch? When he was _right there_?

She stood up abruptly, clearing their empty noodle cartons away and ignoring the way her stomach was twisting with humiliation. If Stiles knew what he was like in her dreams, what she let him do to her sometimes...well, she'd never live it down, that was for sure. He'd probably never speak to her again, except to laugh in her face. Anyone would think she hadn't gotten laid in _years_ , the way her subconscious was screwing her over right now.

She took the boxes into the kitchen, emptying them in the trash can, and took a long swig out of her water bottle. That's all it was. Her subconscious was just trying to tell her to get some action, and the fact that Stiles was always with her was the only reason _he_ was the one undressing her and touching her and grinding himself against her...

She swallowed dryly, putting her hands over her hot cheeks. Yeah, she had a problem.

"Yeah, okay. Thanks. Okay, bye." Stiles hung up as he entered the kitchen, slipping his phone into his back pocket. Lydia plastered the best smile she could muster on her face.

"Who was that?"

"The coroner. She swabbed our John Doe's mouth and sent it off for analysis before we attended the autopsy, and the results just came back. There was human DNA in his mouth, from someone else."

Lydia rested one hand on the counter, her smile falling off. "So...he bit someone?"

"Or he ate someone."

They were silent, staring at each other. "This case is fucked," Lydia said eventually. She checked her watch. 19:43. "We shouldn't have fallen asleep."

Stiles nodded. "I know. But I have an idea."

He was looking at her with an apologetic expression, and she recognized that look. "Does this idea involve my banshee intuition by any chance?"

"A little," he said, looking up at her through the loose strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead. He stepped closer to her, and she resisted the urge to step back. "They're never going to find the body unless we help. And when I say help, I mean-"

"My kind of help, I get it," she interrupted, pursing her lips. "We're going to the woods, aren't we?"

He placed his hands on her shoulders, offering her a supportive smile. "Only if you're up for it Martin."

She shrugged out of his grip, wanting to be far away from those hands right now. And those eyes. And that mouth...

"Alright, Stilinski. I'll get my coat."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

It was a cold night, and the heater in Stiles' jeep wasn't doing anything to warm Lydia's toes as she rubbed her hands together, shrinking further into her coat. She had been out to the woods with Stiles enough now that she didn't feel fear any more, but she was still nervous as they drove into the darkness. She was afraid of finding the body. She always hated finding the bodies.

Stiles put his hand on the seat behind her head as he drove, offering her a comforting smile. She didn't like that he was so close to her after everything that had been going through her head recently. When his thumb accidentally brushed her ear she shrank into the window, and he noticed. She saw him frown slightly as he moved his hand to change gears, and then put both hands back on the wheel. They didn't look at each other after that.

"Okay, here it is," Stiles muttered, squinting into the darkness as they parked at the side of the road. "This is as close as we're gonna get in the car. We'll have to walk the rest of the way."

Lydia nodded wordlessly, opening the door and hopping out before he could say anything else.

She flicked her flashlight on, the harsh light illuminating her foggy breaths as they came out in short bursts. She wrapped her scarf a little tighter around her neck and started walking, following Stiles as he set off along a very overgrown trail, pulling his gun as he did so. He rested it loosely on his arm above his flashlight, classic cop style, and Lydia tried not to think about the fact that his weapon of choice used to be a freaking _baseball bat_.

They swung their flashlight beams back and forth along the path as they walked in silence, the only sounds coming from the trees around them. It was obvious that what Stiles had said about this area was true – clearly no one came around this part of the woods. Lydia could barely see where she was supposed to be walking.

"Do you feel anything?" Stiles asked, his voice loud in the quiet. He turned to look behind him, catching her eye. "Any growing sense of dread?"

She shook her head. "Other than the feeling that we're alone in the middle of the most abandoned part of the woods, in a town that is infamous for its nightmarish monsters, searching for a headless corpse?"

He glared at her. "Yes, other than that."

She raised one eyebrow, unable to help herself. "No. I don't feel anything out of the ordinary."

Stiles nodded, disappointment clearly written all over his face. "I'll check the GPS on my phone and try to get us as close to where the head was found as possible." He holstered his gun at his side and pocketed his flashlight, pulling out his phone instead while Lydia hugged herself for warmth.

"We're about ten minutes' walk away," he stated, rotating the phone as he figured out where to go. "We follow the trail for another seven or eight minutes, I'd say, then it's a bit more of a trek into the unknown."

Lydia bit her tongue before she said something she knew would upset him. She understood that he needed her for this part, and that she'd offered her help, but it still didn't make it okay that he was dragging her into the woods at night.

She didn't want to admit that she was only sour because her dream had been interrupted once again, before she had a chance to taste dream-Stiles' lips, or…well, the rest of him.

She was definitely just mad at herself. No need to take it out on him. It wasn't like he was aware of her thought processes recently.

"Let's go then," she said, faking a smile. "I probably just need to get closer to the crime scene."

She knew he noticed that something was off about her attitude, but he didn't say anything, only stared at her for a couple of seconds longer than usual before he resumed their search, using her light. She trailed behind him, shining her flashlight everywhere but at him.

Time passed, and suddenly they had to leave the path, Stiles' coordinates leading them into the undergrowth. It was wild, and she found herself stumbling a few times before Stiles eventually reached for her hand with his own. "You okay?" he asked, worry etched into his features as he steadied her, his fingers grasping hers. "Stay with me."

He didn't let go, and they continued through the trees, holding hands. When Stiles finally came to a halt and untangled his fingers from hers, she _hated_ herself for how disappointed she felt at the loss of contact.

 _It's your subconscious_ , she thought to herself, annoyed. _It's telling you what your body craves, that's all it is._

She tried to remember when she'd last had sex. There were a couple of casual guys over the year, but nothing that had really satisfied her. She and Stiles had an unspoken agreement – neither of them ever brought people back to their place. If they met someone, they went to that person's bed and they left it there. They had never officially spoken about it, but Lydia was glad they had an understanding. She'd seen Stiles sneaking back into the apartment in the early hours a few times since they'd moved in together, smelling like bourbon and perfume, his shirt loosely buttoned and his hair messier than usual. She knew one hundred percent that she did not want to meet any of the women that Stiles Stilinski slept with.

Stiles had caught her tiptoeing through the door, heels in hand once, and had said nothing. In fact, neither of them had ever spoken about their sex life. It was probably the only subject they never broached.

"We're here," Stiles breathed, looking at her expectantly.

Lydia drew in a deep breath, closing her eyes and trying to forget what she had been thinking about. She needed to clear her mind, empty it of pointless thoughts about her roommate. Her abilities were there for a reason, and she wanted to help as much as she could.

Stiles waited patiently as she breathed, eventually opening her eyes. She moved towards the crime scene tape, the light from the flashlights reflecting harshly off the yellow plastic. The scene looked abandoned now, the tape loose and flapping against the tree trunk. Lydia reached out and ran her hand along it, letting her bare skin touch the cold plastic as she waited for something to happen.

"All I can sense is death," she sighed, looking up at Stiles apologetically. "I'm not getting any more information. Definitely not a location."

"Damn it," Stiles muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. He moved closer to her, scanning the ground. "There must be _something_ here."

"Maybe there really isn't a body, Stiles," Lydia murmured. "Maybe it's been incinerated, or eaten by a wild animal."

A loud _snap_ echoed around them, the sound coming from somewhere to Lydia's right. She felt the air leave her lungs as Stiles leapt forward and grabbed her. He pushed her up against the nearest tree, his gun in his hand immediately as he boxed her in, his arms either side of her body, finger on the trigger. "Turn the flashlight off," he demanded, and she did as she was told, plunging them into darkness.

The moon was their only source of light, and Lydia could see it reflected in Stiles' eyes as they darted back and forth, searching for the threat. She held her breath, dizzy. He was so _close_. His body was pressed against hers as they hid from the sound, her face against his chest. She could feel an erratic heartbeat, but she didn't know if it was his or hers.

He didn't seem to notice how close they were, or care. He was still listening intently for another sound, tense and ready for a fight. Lydia looked up at him, her hair brushing against his chin as she did so. She waited like that for what felt like forever, gazing up at him.

"Stiles," she whispered finally, her voice coming out shaky because they'd almost been attacked by _something_ and the guy she'd been dreaming about screwing for three months just pushed his body up against hers with literally _zero_ warning. She tried again. "I think we're okay. It was probably just a deer."

She felt his body visibly relax, bit by bit, as he started to accept that whatever it was, it was gone. He glanced down at her. "I don't think that was a deer, Lydia, do you?"

She didn't answer, because now that he'd lowered his head their faces were inches apart, and she didn't know if she'd ever been this close to Stiles' face before, other than that time in the locker room when they were kids. Her breathing hitched, and she couldn't help but look at his mouth as she remembered that day. His lips had been so soft and pliable, melting into hers as she kissed his panic away. Even though they were both now in their twenties, she could still remember the details of that kiss – the way he had completely held his breath, the tickle of his eyelashes on her skin as he eventually closed his eyes, accepting that she was actually kissing him. The soft pressure of him kissing her back. Lydia remembered everything.

And as their eyes met, their misty breaths clashing in the small space between them, Lydia wanted to feel it again.

He was looking at her, finally noticing their proximity. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest quicken ever so slightly against her body as he fixed his eyes on her face, waiting.

She moved agonizingly slowly forward, her gaze dropping to his mouth once more. This was probably a huge mistake, but she couldn't think straight with Stiles' lips so close to hers, slightly parted in surprise and confusion, his eyes dazed. She hovered there, unsure, but then Stiles moved just a fraction of an inch towards her, his eyes fixed on her mouth, before they fluttered closed as their cold noses brushed against one another. He wanted this too.

They fit together like the first time. Lydia felt her chest expand as Stiles kissed her in the dim light, slowly, hesitantly. She reached up with one hand, placing it gingerly against his jawline as he tilted his head, capturing her lips at a different angle and taking her breath away. The hand that wasn't holding the gun slipped under her scarf at her shoulder, his thumb gently stroking the bare skin where her collarbone met her neck. It was a careful gesture, and Lydia felt like she might break under the softness of his touch.

She let out a faint moan, pressing forward and opening her mouth for him to access. He pushed back, his tongue meeting hers, a little noise escaping the back of his throat that went _straight_ to her lower abdomen.

Then suddenly he was gone, stepping backwards, shaking his head. Lydia felt her face go cold again, and she couldn't do anything but stare at him, eyes wide, lips still moist from his kiss.

She wanted to reach out to him, to drag him back to her, but there was something in his demeanor that stopped her. He wouldn't look her in the eye, and seemed intent on getting as much distance between them as possible.

Neither of them spoke, the silence deafening. Lydia was still disoriented from the kiss. It was as good as she had imagined, and she wanted more. Unfortunately, Stiles didn't look like he felt the same way.

"We can't just-" he started, his hand going to the back of his neck. He looked wild, panicked. "I mean, I'm not…" he couldn't seem to find what he wanted to say. Lydia felt herself start to warm up, and realized that she was _embarrassed_. She felt rejected. Stiles was rejecting her.

She finally snapped out of it, blinking rapidly. "No," she interrupted, unable to face him either. "You're right, that was…" she bit her lip, fiddling with the flashlight in her hand. "It never happened."

He stopped, finally looking at her, but she couldn't meet his eye. She'd been thinking about this for months, but she never imagined it would happen like this, in the middle of the woods at a freaking crime scene. It was all wrong. The way Stiles was looking at her was wrong.

"That was stupid," he finally managed to say, and she felt crushed. She bit back tears. She'd never really been rejected before, but she was sure she wouldn't have cared all that much, had it been anyone else. Stiles was different.

"Totally," she agreed, nodding. She thought about how his tongue felt in her mouth, his groan vibrating against her lips as her back hit the tree behind her. Yep, so stupid.

She turned abruptly and started to head back the way they'd come, turning the flashlight on again. She didn't want Stiles to see her face, because she was worried the disappointment was written all over it.

Neither of them spoke for the walk back, and Stiles didn't reach for her hand to help her as they navigated through the wildest part of the trek. Lydia pursed her lips, putting one foot carefully and determinedly in front of the other, refusing to fall and need his assistance. She had always been fine on her own anyway.

The more they walked, the more Lydia started to think that Stiles was right. Yes, she had been thinking about him recently. Yes, she had wanted to kiss him for a while now. But they were supposed to be working a case together, not making eyes at each other in the woods. Lydia had always put work first. Plus, Stiles was her closest friend and ally, and she couldn't afford to lose him. Friendship first.

They finally made it back to the Jeep, Lydia feeling pretty proud of herself for leading the way. She was really cold now, the frosty air biting into her skin as she clambered into the car, reaching immediately to turn the heat on. Stiles was beside her, his brow seemingly constantly furrowed as he put the key in the ignition and the car roared to life.

It was a very awkward journey home, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. Lydia regretted her behavior now, knowing she had pushed Stiles away. He was gripping the wheel tightly, looking considerably pissed with her. She inwardly groaned – it was _awful_ , when Stiles was mad at her.

She couldn't blame him of course. He used to be in love with her at school, and she didn't pay him a damn bit of attention. It seemed only right for him to be angry at her for waiting until he was well and truly over her to make a move. It had been _years_ , since their first kiss. They had built so many bridges since then, and so many walls. Hell, they might as well have built a freaking moat around their feelings. Now, Lydia felt like both of them had just set the whole castle on fire.

She sighed as they pulled into their parking space, coming to a halt. Stiles was deep in thought, completely ignoring her presence. She couldn't bear to sit in the car and feel the silence pressing in all around her, so she got out, slamming the door behind her. She felt his eyes follow her as she headed for the stairs, and heard him exit the Jeep as she put her foot on the first one. She didn't want to get the elevator and have to stand in there with him, listening to that terrible music.

 _What a fucking mess_ , she thought as she climbed to their floor, the tiredness settling in. She entered the apartment, throwing her keys on to the table by the door, and shrugged off her coat. The whole night had been a disaster. They hadn't even made any progress with the case.

She heard a slam as she was removing her scarf, and turned to see that Stiles had made it. He was pressed against the closed door, his back to her. She needed to say something, to apologize for coming on to him. They needed to sort this out, whatever it was, so they could go back to working together.

"Stiles," she began, wanting to at least break the silence. She was unsure of how to continue her sentence, so she bit her lip, waiting for him to turn around so they could talk.

He did, taking three long steps towards her, his eyes burning with determination. She barely had time to open her mouth before he collided with her, his hands on either side of her face, lips against hers as they stumbled backwards, Lydia's surprised squeak drowned in his kiss.

It only took her a second to respond, her hands flying to his hair as he lowered his arms to her thighs, lifting her clean off the ground and placing her roughly on the table, pushing the keys and whatever else was there to the floor. They clattered as they hit the wood.

For once, Lydia's mind was blank. Stiles was kissing her like he was drowning and she was oxygen, his hands pressing against her hips as he pulled her lower lip between his teeth. _Holy fuck_ , she thought, the moan that escaped her breathy with surprise. She let her body take over, pushing his coat off his shoulders impatiently and reaching for his belt buckle.

She knew they should slow down, that they should take a step back and think about this, but all of her fantasies were coming true, and she couldn't stop herself. Stiles seemed to be on a similar wavelength, his lips leaving hers and moving to her neck, his nose nuzzling her ear as he kissed the sensitive skin underneath it. He trailed hot kisses down to her collarbone, his hands grasping the hem of her sweater as she dropped his belt on the floor.

She pulled away long enough for him to tug it over her head, shivering in her tank top before she reached for his warmth again, fisting her hand in his shirt and tugging him roughly against her. His hands skimmed down her arms as he kissed her again, teasing her mouth open.

She let him in willingly, a groan bubbling up her throat as their tongues met, more roughly than in the woods. This was frantic and desperate, their kisses sloppy and full of want. She was dizzy with desire, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

She managed to get three undone when someone knocked on the door.

The noise was impossibly loud, forcing the two of them apart immediately. They stared wide eyed at each other as Parrish's voice sounded.

"It's me. Sorry Stiles, but you're gonna want to open the door. It's about the case."

For a fraction of a second both of them were frozen, half undressed, lips swollen. Then Lydia shot off the table, picking up Stiles' belt and throwing it at him, pushing him roughly away, in the direction of his bedroom. _Go_ , she mouthed frantically, and he got the hint, retreating down the hallway.

She reached for her sweater, throwing it over her head as Parrish knocked again. "Coming!" she sang, in her best casual voice. She quickly hung Stiles' coat up and put the keys back on the table, running a hand over her face and hair before opening the door.

"Hey," she said, trying not to sound out of breath. "What's up?"

Parrish cocked an eyebrow at her, but said nothing. "Is Stiles in?"

"I'm here," his voice sounded as he approached, looking considerably less like he'd been about to fuck her in their hallway. His belt was secured and his shirt buttoned again, and he'd smoothed his hair back. "What's going on?"

Lydia kept her eyes on Parrish, afraid of giving them away if she looked at Stiles. She still couldn't believe he'd just walked over and claimed her like that. It was so unexpected, not to mention _hot_.

"I know it's getting late but I thought you'd want to know what I found," Parrish continued, looking tired.

Stiles looked at him, concerned. "Did you find the rest of the body?"

"No," he sighed. "We found the missing kid. She's dead."

Lydia felt her insides twist, her hand going to her mouth. "No," she whispered. She felt Stiles' hand on her shoulder. But Parrish wouldn't be here over a missing child, because it wasn't Stiles' case. It was completely unrelated. Wasn't it?

Parrish nodded gravely. "She was out by the lake, half buried. She wasn't all…there."

Stiles closed his eyes, swallowing audibly. "Please don't tell me she was missing her head."

"She still had her head. That's not why I'm here." Parrish ran a hand over his face, his stubble starting to show. "We took a sample of her DNA."

Lydia was starting to put two and two together. "Oh, Jesus, no," she gasped, feeling the tears prick her eyes.

Parrish nodded again. "It's a match to the DNA we found in John Doe's mouth."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Lydia was trying to make sense of everything as she rode with Parrish to the station, ignoring the tiredness settling in her bones. It was now midnight, and if it wasn't for the nap they'd had earlier, Lydia wasn't sure she and Stiles would have made it this far.

She had chosen to ride with Parrish to avoid another awkward journey in the jeep. After their heated makeout session, complete with various levels of undress, she didn't really feel like being close to Stiles was a good idea. The case had taken an awful turn, and there was a dead child whose family needed justice. It would be inappropriate for them to be letting their inner desires take over when it was more important than ever that they were focused.

She rested her forehead against the cool glass of the window, trying not to let her eyes drift shut. Parrish glanced at her, brow furrowed.

"You okay?" he asked, his eyes flicking from the road to her face and back.

She blinked a few times, staring at him. "Yes, why?"

He shrugged. "You don't seem yourself."

Her face fell. "Jordan, a kid just died. Of course I'm not myself. I can't compartmentalise like you and Stiles, I wasn't made for this side of the job."

He nodded sympathetically. "It's hard for me too. And Stiles hasn't worked a case like this one since he started, so it can't be easy for him either." He shifted in his seat, trying to get more comfortable. "Maybe you should have kept him company on the way here. Or at least kept him out of his own head." Parrish shook his head, worried. "He gets trapped in there sometimes."

Lydia didn't answer, instead resting her chin on her fist and continuing to gaze out of the window. She didn't want to talk about Stiles. She wanted to stop finding the bodies. She wanted to stop being too late to save the people that deserved to be saved. She wanted to figure out what the hell was going on.

They arrived at the station, the Sheriff meeting them outside as they killed their engines and got out. Noah looked like he hadn't slept in days, his uniform ruffled and the skin under his eyes darker than usual. Lydia had a huge amount of respect for the people who protected her town day and night. It was a truly exhausting job.

"I'm sorry you guys ended up a part of this," he sighed, leading them inside. Stiles was behind her, holding the door open above her head as she walked in. She chanced a glance up at him, and could see how red his cheeks were, like he'd been rubbing furiously at his face and eyes on the way over.

They sat in Noah's office, the case files strewn over his desk in front of them. Stiles handed her a coffee and she shot him a small smile, nursing it between her hands as she let her eyes roam over the photos before her. "So, tell us what we need to know," she said, her voice quiet.

Stiles sat next to her, stretching his legs out with a tired groan. "Yeah. We need to start making progress here."

"Okay," the Sheriff began, resting his palms on the desk. "Her name is Lacey Tunning, and she's from Beacon Hills. Her father reported her missing almost a week ago, in the morning. She's eight years old."

Lydia let out a shuddering breath. _Eight years old._

"What attacked her was not human, we know that. There were deep wounds all over her body, from claws, or teeth, but the fatal wound is a stab to the heart that looks pretty intentional." He looked at Stiles. "We know now that your John Doe definitely took a bite out of her, so we're assuming he's…whatever this thing is."

"I've been trying to figure it out," Lydia cut in, her voice shaky. "I spent hours looking through the bestiary today, but I couldn't find anything." She sat back in the chair, chewing her lip. "I'll keep looking. It has to be in there."

She could feel Stiles' eyes on her, but she turned away from him. She didn't want his comfort right now, it felt wrong. The guilt was churning in her stomach. This whole time she'd been selfishly thinking about Stiles, and his hands on her waist, his teeth on her neck, his moans in her ear. She'd even gone as far as to let it actually happen between them. All while a poor little girl was being murdered by a monster.

Stiles looked away from her. "If her father reported her missing in the morning, that means he must have woken up to find her gone," he concluded, his hand on the back of his neck. "Are we thinking home invasion?"

"We're assuming John Doe took her from her bed, yes," Parrish replied, crossing his arms over his chest. "Pretty soon after she was killed, judging by the condition of his body, someone took it upon themselves to chop off John Doe's head. Whoever it was must have known about him, or what he'd done."

"A hunter," Lydia breathed, nodding. "We knew it."

"So how did he know there was a little girl in bed, in that house?"

"He could probably smell her."

Lydia closed her eyes, trying not to picture Lacey's face, and the absolute terror she must have felt as she was dragged from her bed. "The coroner didn't just find DNA in John Doe's mouth, she found a bead." Her mind was reeling as everyone looked at her. "Why was there a bead in his mouth?"

The Sheriff bowed his head. "There were bite marks on her left arm, but they looked interrupted. He must have bitten off her bracelet. Maybe he choked on it."

"Wait," Stiles interrupted, holding up a hand. His eyes were closed, his face the picture of confusion. "So you're suggesting he was trying to...I dunno, eat her, and he stopped because he choked on a bead from her bracelet?"

Noah sighed, running a hand over his face. "It's a working theory."

"And then he stabbed her because he couldn't eat her?"

"She was probably screaming and trying to escape," Lydia said, her voice cracking. "He would have wanted her to be quiet. If it was his only option…"

"And then he buried her by the lake."

"It seems desperate, yeah," Parrish nodded at Stiles, who was becoming increasingly more frustrated with all the new information. "This guy was definitely unprepared, and probably panicked."

Stiles took a moment to process, chewing his lip. "So this John Doe, he must have been recently turned, whatever he is. There's no other way to explain that level of recklessness."

"And he must be alone," Lydia added. "He doesn't seem like he had any leadership, or direction. He was acting purely by instinct."

"What we don't know, is why he went for a child." Noah stated, glancing at Parrish. "Maybe you two could figure that out, because if he was targeting children and only children, we may have a problem on our hands if there turns out to be more of these… _things_ out there."

"I'll stay with you guys and go over everything," Stiles announced, standing up. "I'll try to figure out who this hunter is, because it seems like he or she knows a lot more than we do at this moment in time."

"Stiles, you should sleep," Lydia muttered, grabbing his sleeve. He shot her a sharp look, and she let go immediately.

"I think I'll be fine Lydia, but thank you for caring."

The room fell silent, everyone looking at Lydia as she stared, wide eyed at her roommate. Well, she deserved that. She had been hot and cold all day.

Parrish cleared his throat, easing the tension somewhat. "Okay, let's get started then. I want Mr. Tunning to receive some kind of closure."

Lydia nodded, getting to her feet. "I'll go home and look through the bestiary again," she offered, but the Sheriff shook his head.

"Get some sleep Lydia, you look beat," he asserted, crossing to the other side of his desk and putting a warm hand on her shoulder that reminded her of Stiles, and the way he could so easily comfort her with a firm grip and warm eyes. It must be a Stilinksi thing. "Come on, I'll drive you home."

Her shoulders slumped, and she nodded, reaching for her coat.

He didn't push her to talk while he drove, and she appreciated that. She briefly fell asleep on the way, her forehead knocking against the window gently as she swayed.

As soon as she entered the apartment she went straight for her laptop, unplugging it and carrying it to her room. She brushed her teeth, changed into comfortable pyjamas and poured herself a glass of water, settling on to the bed and opening the bestiary as she took a sip.

She read rapidly through page after page, her eyes skimming over only the most important parts, looking for something that would target children, something cannibalistic. For once, she was actually frustrated that she had to translate the words rather than read freely. They didn't have enough _time_ for this. Growling in exasperation, she slammed the laptop shut, pressing her fingertips into her eyes. "I'm so, so sorry," she whispered into her room, and burst into tears.

That was how Stiles found her a few hours later, curled up on top of her sheets, face streaked with tears as she dozed in and out of sleep. "Hey," he greeted softly, quickly kneeling in front of her bed, his anger from before long gone. His brow was furrowed in concern as she looked up at him, her eyes glassy, unable to speak. Her throat felt rough. "Lydia, stop punishing yourself."

"I'm not-" she croaked, trying to defend herself, but Stiles cut her off.

"You are," he said simply, staring knowingly into her eyes. He brushed the hair away from her face, a few strands sticking to the tear tracks on her cheeks. "None of this was your fault."

She swallowed thickly. "If I have these abilities, why don't they work how I want them to?" she asked, her voice catching. "Why couldn't I prevent this from happening? Why do I always have to find the bodies?"

Stiles grazed his thumb along her cheekbone, looking grave. "I don't know."

She sighed shakily, squeezing her eyes shut as another tear leaked out. Stiles caught it this time, the pad of his thumb brushing it away. "I don't know how you could do this job, Stiles."

"I do it because someone has to stop this, so no one else gets hurt," he replied easily. "I do it so you don't have to find as many bodies."

She couldn't bring herself to look away from those honest eyes. Stiles was such a good person, she could barely handle it sometimes. She didn't know what she would do without him, his warmth and comfort keeping her grounded when she felt like she might float into the darkness.

"Thank you," was all she could say, her hand covering his. "You're doing a really good job."

He chuckled, removing his hand from her face and moving to sit next to her on the bed. She stretched out, wiping her face. "Did you find anything?"

"Nothing substantial, but I did a lot of research on a group of hunters who work around Beacon Hills. Tomorrow, I'll call Scott and Malia. I think we could use some help."

Lydia nodded, glancing at her bedside clock. "Woah," she exclaimed quietly, when she realized it was almost four in the morning. She had a shift at the café in three hours. "Stiles, you seriously need to sleep."

Stiles sighed, standing up. "I know. I'm heading into work in the morning, I'll meet Scott at the station." He shuffled to her door, pausing there to turn and smile at her. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Stiles," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. The air was heavy with the weight of the line they'd crossed earlier, but Lydia didn't want to talk about it right now, and she could tell Stiles didn't either. The case came first, and there was a nagging feeling at the back of her mind that this was far from over.

He left, closing her door behind him, and she lay in bed listening to him run the faucet, brushing his teeth and gargling mouthwash, before padding down the hallway to his room. There were some shuffling noises as he got changed, and then everything went silent.

The quiet pressed in on Lydia, and she didn't like it. It felt like a weight on her chest as she tried to think about anything other than Lacey Tunning's face as she screamed for her father, for anyone to help her, a monster's teeth digging into her flesh.

All of a sudden she felt like she couldn't breathe, her hand clutching at her chest. She sat up abruptly, willing herself to calm down. She knew she was at risk of having a panic attack if she didn't slow her breathing, so she closed her eyes, holding her breath, thinking about Stiles and his eyes and the way he looked at her after their first kiss.

Eventually, the panic subsided. She let out a shaky breath, wiping tears from her eyes. Her brain was going a thousand miles a minute, still trying to figure out what was going on, and she knew she was never going to sleep like this. She needed something soothing. Something to calm her, keep her grounded.

She swung her legs off the bed, making her way out into the hallway. The wood floors were cold on her bare feet as she tiptoed carefully past the bathroom, chewing her lip as she did so. Her hand hovered hesitantly over the door handle, and she told herself this was stupid, it was a bad idea.

But she knew, deep down, that it wasn't. It was what she wanted, what she needed. And she would be bold enough to say that he needed it tonight too.

She opened the door, slowly. Stiles was lying in bed, awake. His arm was behind his head and his sheets were bunched around his waist, the moonlight slanting over his bare torso as he stared out of the window. Lydia felt her breath catch in her throat. He looked too good. This was definitely a mistake.

He heard her come in, and turned his gaze towards her, his eyes bright and sad. "Lydia," he muttered, his voice thick, and she knew he'd been crying. She took a tentative step towards him.

"I can't sleep."

"Me neither," he replied, looking as unsure as she felt.

She took another step, her heart hammering in her chest. "I…"

"It's okay," he interjected, pulling his arm out from under his head. "It's alright." He pulled the covers back, and she looked down at the empty space next to him.

"We shouldn't," was all she could say, standing self-consciously next to his bed. There were so many horrible things happening, and they didn't deserve this. She didn't deserve to have Stiles' comfort when so many others had died, terrified and alone.

"I know," he agreed, his voice gentle.

She only waited a moment longer before crawling into bed with him.

He didn't hesitate, pulling her immediately closer, her back against his bare chest. Lydia felt like she was numb all over as her best friend's arms enveloped her like they had a thousand times before, but never like this. His breath ghosted over her neck, ruffling the loose hairs around her ear. "Is this okay?" he asked, his heart beating fast and hard against her back.

She closed her eyes, smiling. He was an idiot.

"Yes, it's…it's perfect." She was warm and safe like this, with his steady breathing right next to her ear and the rise and fall of his chest behind her. She reached for his hand, linking their fingers over her stomach. He stiffened ever so slightly, holding his breath.

"Lydia," he breathed into her ear, and she shivered. "About today…"

She squeezed his hand. "I just want to sleep, Stiles, please."

A few seconds passed before he responded. "Okay," he said quietly, his thumb brushing over her hand. He buried his face into the hair at the crook of her neck, pulling her closer, breathing her in like she was his oxygen. She went willingly, sighing at his touch, not sure where he ended and she began. They needed this. "Okay. Let's just sleep."

She didn't dream about him that night, because everything she wanted was already there.


End file.
